Friday, I wrote a nice, long post. I got most of the way through it and my internet went ka-blooey. In that moment I was ticked about it, but now I’m so glad it didn’t post. You guys were spared three to four hundred more words about how crazy the nap thing still is. But I did feel better after writing it out, so all’s well blah blah blah. All weekend, Worm fell asleep in the high chair at lunch and got carried to bed. Since he was actually sleeping, I really didn’t care. Maybe I should just let him fall asleep eating for as long as it lasts?
We’re on week three of the Huz taking my car to work, and hopefully the end is near! After helping him take it all apart and put it all back together this weekend, his truck was still leaking water. After replacing the thermostat and gasket (twice on the gasket), we finally found where the leak was coming from – the thermostat housing. If this sounds like Latin to you, I envy you. I could totally do this thermostat thing all on my own now.
Anyway, it’s not hard to fix. Brand new, it’s about $100 for the part. Since it’s been this long anyway, we figured he could use my car again this week and try to find the part from a junkyard. If he hasn’t found one by payday, we’ll bite the bullet and buy it new. Either way, I should be rolling by this coming weekend. Whew! What a relief that will be.
Eldest played three (!) softball games last week (one was rescheduled from the week before when it rained). Her team won All. Three! Games!! She even batted in some runs, though she didn’t get to score one herself. Today they’re playing a tournament, and then next week is the county playoffs. Being so unathletic myself (but always secretly wishing I was an athlete shhhhdon’ttell), I really admire her enthusiasm for the game. The upside to the season coming to an end, though, is that she won’t be drop-dead tired every day. Poor Eldest takes after her mother in that she is cranky when tired.
I hate being unsure of my “right” to write about something. This blog is, in many ways, like a journal to me. Of course I know that someone else will ultimately read it, but its core purpose is helping me keep my sanity by getting things off my chest or out of my head. When I write here, I spend half the time keeping folks informed of what’s going on in our world. The other half of the time, I try to forget my audience completely – to write as if it were only for me. It’s the only way to keep my feelings honest, rather than, “But what will they think of me when they read this?” I guess I figure I’ll worry about such when the time comes.
The lines start to blur, though, when I feel compelled to write about people or situations that are personally known to at least some of my readers. I have to take into account that my perspective is just that – one person’s perspective. All that being said, I won’t stifle myself by not writing about what I spend precious time thinking about, just because it might be seen as talking about a friend behind her back. Because honestly, nothing I write on this subject will be anything I wouldn’t say to her face. If she could hear what I’d be trying to say.
A very good friend of mine had a very close call this weekend. From what I’ve been told, she’ll have a long recovery for her mangled leg but is lucky to even be alive. I have to say upfront that I don’t know all the facts, but chances are she was under the influence of something. Thankfully, her two kids were not with her at the time.
I love this girl. We’ve had our ups and downs, lived together, had some of the most fun times together, put ourselves in harm’s way for the other’s sake, fed each other, and yes, we’ve fought, too. Not often, but, damn… when we did, it was EPIC.
She was the first female of my own age that I had any success in relating to. Basically, she restored my faith in chicks. At her best, she’s one of the coolest people I know.
I’ve known her for 13 years. Sadly, the last eight have been like watching the Titanic sink. Like being on one of the lifeboats, cold but far from danger, with empty space on either side and a familiar voice coming from that chaos in the distance.
Maybe it’s self-centered or self-important of me, but I can’t help but wonder if I could have helped. Or if I’d done things differently, would it have changed anything? I spent a lot of our teenage years (when I had but one adorable, impeccably behaved child who could easily be pawned off to friends or relatives who were experiencing baby-lust, or had children of a similar age, or for some inexplicable reason had pity on me with the whole missing-out-on-her-teenage-years thing [my grandma] for a night or even the weekend) enabling her. Sometimes as the more sober driver, sometimes as the voice of reason that got us out of a questionable situation, sometimes as the nurse/babysitter when she’d end up in a bad state. Let’s just say, us girls, we were pretty effed up at that point in life.
Some of that I suppose I could blame on being young, but I wasn’t that stupid, either. I seen first-hand the difference between my wanting to catch a buzz in whatever convenient way, and her wanting to get totally obliterated in whatever convenient way. I think about the options, what I could’ve possibly done. I could’ve told her parents the full extent of what they already knew was going on. I could’ve called on outside forces, though I doubt I ever would have. I’ve also seen and felt the damage that the “system” can wreak in the name of the greater good. And besides, where I come from, “Snitches are a dying breed.” So I don’t think it likely I’d have done anything like that.
There were a couple of times that should’ve been wake-up calls to her, so it’s not like I’m sitting here blaming myself for her downfall. I totally understand and subscribe to the notion of personal responsibility.
But, there was a time when she listened to me. I just think that I could have possibly been a better friend. Maybe if I’d practiced more of my brutal honesty with her (which, for some reason, she’s historically been spared, unlike most people I know). Maybe if I’d said something. Maybe if the times I’d tried, I hadn’t backed off when she got defensive.
Oh if I could pray and I try, dear,
You might come back home, home to me.
Whoa, if I could ever hold your little hand
Oh you might understand.
Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe, yeah.
Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe dear
I guess I might have done something wrong,
Honey I’d be glad to admit it.
Oh, come on home to me!
Honey maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe yeah.
Well I know that it just doesn’t ever seem to matter, baby,
Oh honey, when I go out or what I’m trying to do,
Can’t you see I’m still left here
And I’m holding on in needing you.
Please, please, please, please,
Oh don’t you reconsider babe.
Now come on, I said come back,
Won’t you come back to me!
Maybe dear, oh maybe, maybe, maybe,
Let me help you show me how.
Honey, maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe…”